


Descendants

by Sayl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayl/pseuds/Sayl
Summary: This takes place in a peaceful timeline where the future kids didn't need to come back, but have some bittersweet LonLissa fluff, featuring a long-awaited important moment in Lissa's life.





	Descendants

The click of the door behind him drowns out the winter winds as Lon’qu shuts the door behind him….

Owain is in his arms, seemingly disappointed to be brought in despite the steadily increasing gales outside that nipped at his nose and frosted his lashes. A small hand pats at his father’s shoulder as he protests, insisting on romping around in the fresh blanket of snow that had fallen that morning. The young boy was just getting to the age where he found it fun to play in, but Lon’qu was familiar enough with the Feroxi climate to know when the weather was taking a turn for the worse. And he’s not about to keep his five-year-old son outside in a blizzard.

The waist-deep powder outside had already soaked through the boy’s clothes, leaving them cold and wet. Owain didn’t seem to notice yet, but after being in the warm walls of his home for a few minutes he certainly would now that the excitement of diving into every snowdrift was no longer distracting him. A few steps into the hall and Lon’qu lowers his son to the floor, instructing him to go to his room so they can redress him. The boy scampers off, practically slipping on the wooden floorboards as he dives through the doorway, Lon’qu trailing close behind at his normal pace.

Owain is already struggling to pull off his coat and shirt at the same time to no avail until Lon’qu kneels down to help him out of it. It takes a few minutes, the boy’s constant squirming and attempts to break free and streak through the house make it nearly impossible to get him into dry pants. Lon’qu eventually becomes the victor in the struggle, but just as he moves to slip a clean shirt on over the boy’s head, but he pauses. He stares for a moment, spotting a dark blemish on Owain’s arm. He’d noticed it a few days ago, but it was pale and had no distinctive shape. He’d thought it was some sort of bruise, but his son claimed he hadn’t bashed his arm against anything. Lon’qu had assumed he may have not noticed or forgotten, as the boy was rather thick-skinned. But something about it catches his eye now.

The marking is darker now. In fact, it’s taken a very distinct shape, one that he can’t ignore. He puts the shirt down, reaching forward to hold his son’s arm in his hand. In disbelief, he rubs his thumb over the mark, as if it will wipe away. He blinks, but it doesn’t vanish when opens his eyes again. “Papa!” Owain whines, reaching for his shirt but unable to reach from where he is. But Lon’qu’s in too much shock to pick it up again. He just continues to stare at the marking on the child’s arm…

“ Hold on, Owain ,” he says, quietly but quickly. He leaves the shirt on the ground, hands flying under the boy’s arms and lifting him up into the air. Son in hand, he rushes out of the room and to the kitchen. He comes to a quick halt once he enters the room. The smell of potatoes and chicken broth fills the air as the stew cooks on the stove, but his wife is nowhere to be seen. He backs up, his still wet boots nearly sliding across the floor, but he keeps his balance. The next place he thinks to check is their bedroom, and he rushes there without hesitation. The door’s open a crack, and so Lon’qu doesn’t bother to open it properly. Instead he turns, diving his shoulder into the wood and sending the door flying open. It swings around, hitting the wall with a small crash before it comes to a sudden halt. “ Lissa !” he calls to her just as he bursts through. 

Lissa jumps, quickly whipping around to face him from where she stood in front of the wardrobe. The clothes in her hands that she was trying to hand fly out of her grasp and fall to the floor. Her face is mildly panic-stricken, startled by the door slamming into the wall and Lon’qu’s urgent tone. All she sees at first is her husband’s look of shock and her half-dressed son in his hands. Her first fear is that her child is hurt, and if Lon’qu’s eyes are that wide it must be bad.

“What’s wrong!? What is it?! Is Owain okay?”

Lon’qu shakes his head, realizing the panic he could have caused with such an entry. But he doesn’t want to explain, he wants her to see it. “ He’s fine, I promise…But …” with a nudge of his head, he motions toward the bed as he briskly moves over to it. “ You need to see this .”   
He sits down, waiting for Lissa to take the spot beside him, though she doesn’t look any less distraught despite her husband’s reassurance. Her brows are knit with concern, unsure what to expect or whether or not she should still worry. She asks again, but Lon’qu doesn’t respond. Instead, he hands Owain over to her, letting go once he’s settled on her lap. All the while, Owain babbles about what is going on, or where his shirt is, or why he can’t go play in the snow again. The last thing the boy is concerned about is the blemish.

Lissa looks at her son, but at first doesn’t see anything amiss. She glances to her husband, as confused as she is concerned.

“ His right arm ,” he replies, eyes flitting to that spot where the mark is. Lissa follows the motion, one hand moving his arm a bit to get a better visual.

Her brows shoot up, blue eyes going wide when she sees it.

The Brand of the Exalt…Crystal clear and undeniable. Her jaw drops, gaze full of disbelief as she stares. Her eyes are glued to the marking as she gently runs her fingertips across it. With a gasp, she looks to Lon’qu once again, a silent question that doesn’t need an answer. He simply nods…He doesn’t have any words to offer. What she sees speaks volumes more.

Lissa turns to Owain once more, but the tears are already welling up at the corners of her eyes. Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s unsteady, giving way to the sputtering sobs that start to leave her. She lurches forward, embracing her son and pulling him close to try and keep him from seeing the tears. But her shoulders still shake a bit, prompting a confused look of concern from Owain as he stares at his father over her shoulder. “Papa, what’s wrong with mama?”

Lon’qu gives him a comforting smile in return, “ She’s fine, Owain. She just…remembered a story….that she’s going to tell you tonight before bed .” He stumbles over the words, not sure exactly how to explain. They hadn’t exactly…planned for this. The possibility was always present in the back of his mind but…he didn’t dare focus on it for fear that it also might not happen. Not because it mattered to him…But because of how much it meant to her. Owain hardly looks convinced, so Lon’qu places a hand on his head, tousling his hair. “ I’ll go get your shirt .” And he gets up to move, giving them a moment alone.

He’s only gone about a minute, long enough to turn off the heat on the stove and grab Owain’s shirt from his room. By the time he returns Owain seems rather restless about being trapped in his mother’s arms. And she can tell too, finally pulling back so he can look at her face. She manages to keep it together, but her smile still wavers. Not with sadness, but a mix of emotions he can’t begin to measure. Their son questions her again and she nods, reassuring him as she cups his round cheek in her palm. Lon’qu enters then, getting Owain’s attention just as he climbs back down to the ground. He hands the young boy his shirt, telling him to wash up for dinner and wake his sister up. The child looks back to his mother one more time, awaiting another nod of reassurance from her before listening to his father’s instructions. Once he gets one, small hands grab the woolen garment from his father’s grasp as he hurries out of the room, clumsily slipping the shirt on over his head as he goes.

When he’s gone, Lon’qu turns back to his wife. She seems held together, but he knows better. She didn’t want to start crying too much in front of Owain. He steps forward, kneeling down in front of her where she sits on the bed. One hand reaches forward towards where hers lays in her lap. Gently he lifts it up, and her other hand moves to join it. He brushes his thumb over her fingers, dark eyes lifting to meet her gaze. It’s quiet, no words exchanged, and it’s still for a few moments. But then her resolve breaks. She slides forward off the bed and into his arms, and he wraps them around her. He can feel her fingers gripping his shirt, tugging at the cloth. Her shoulders shake as tears dampen his clothes, and he just pulls her closer. One hand moves behind her head, stroking through her hair as she sobs. 

Though he’s held her through tears before, this is different. The bittersweet undertone is still present, but the air isn’t heavy around them. In fact, it feels lighter: the answer to a question that had loomed over her all her life, the shadow that trailed her heels in the courts of Ylisse and even here. But not just any answer: the one she’d always hoped for. He knows she’s happy, relieved. He rests his chin on her head, content to hold her there, the smallest of smiles on his face. He’s happy too, relieved that this weight was finally lifted from her shoulders. He would have given anything to make this day happen…


End file.
